Author's Note: I actually haven't taken a break from this story! In fact, the opposite! I've started writing chapters in advance (for the first time ever). I'm a few chapters ahead of this one and will most likely be posting chapters more regularly than before. Enjoy and expect new updates soon!
Summary: They were frozen, standing there in the darkest hours of twilight with lips merely inches apart—wanting and wishing for their lives to be different and maybe just for tonight, they could be.
Zelda and Link meet at a tavern during their friend's engagement party and the night spirals from there.
Content Warning: drinking, swearing, sexual content
One Hundred Years Earlier
"Raise," a husky voice called out from across the polished wood table.
The dim lights of a basement tavern rendered just enough visibility to see the remaining faces seated around the card game. The whole establishment had gone silent, succumbing to the sounds of restless onlookers sipping from their wooden mugs whilst dealt cards softly rustled within the hands of the remaining players. The game started with twelve participants, some Zelda had never seen before, but she managed to dwindle the numbers down to a few stragglers still stubborn enough to try and beat her. They never could.
Down a crooked alleyway in the merchant district of Castle Town laid claim to a tavern only a short walk from the loading docks. A rusty metal sign of a crowing rooster dangled over its creaky door and it always seemed to have a stagnant puddle of water right beneath it. The tavern had its regular bar flies; Royal lab technicians wanting to blow off steam after a long day's worth of tinkering, and those not so familiar—those who came from the trading boats looking for some mischief to get into.
The Twisted Cucco had something for everyone.
Conveniently located close to where the ships parked it's sails, the tavern traded for the best liquors and ales crafted in all over Hyrule. Rito vodka, Goron fire whiskey, Zoran brandy, or the highly sought after Gerudo tequila to make the popular desert cocktail; noble pursuit. They even managed to finagle corked barrels of Akkalan gin and Faron rum, but if a customer wasn't there for their wide selection of brews, they'd be there for the entertainment.
The illegal card games were just one of the many questionable activities The Twisted Cucco held behind its dingy door. There were numerous ways of gambling with a deck of cards or a simple arm wrestling competition between brawny pirates and giant Gorons. On most nights, there would be a man or a woman or someone in between leaning against the outside windows, willing to give sexual favors for a hefty pile of rupees. On this night in particular, an artist will be performing on a small stage, teasing her body to a drunken audience—dancing and stripping her clothes off until she's completely bare and the audience is swooning.
Cherry, Zelda's beloved friend, was the reason why she was there that night—one of the reasons, at least. There was no harm in participating in a few card games while she waited for the show to start now, was there?
Zelda looked up from her cards to observe the opponent seated across from her. The gambling players were surrounded by the entirety of the bar; shadowed faces looming over their heads and peering over their shoulders to take a glance at what each player held in their hands. Daruk kept his cards flat on the table, only bending them moderately when he needed a quick glance at his hand. The bright blue sash tied around his chest made his beady eyes brighter, glistening in the low light, and that wide face held the biggest smile Zelda had ever seen. Hidden within a bushy mustache and burly white beard, the Goron holding her gaze pursed his lips together, trying to hide the secrets it contained.
If she wasn't careful though, Zelda could get caught.
Only those who have been in the presence of the Princess could recognize her—thanks to the King prohibiting his daughter from most public gatherings nowadays. Naturally, she was expected to attend every Royal event like a proper princess, as long as it was in the confines of the castle. She also had her daily pilgrimages to the cathedral when she wasn't on the road praying at the springs or maintaining the Beasts—which was the only allowance given to her out of tear-soaked desperation. Since Zelda's mother died, the King had been completely incorrigible; slowly spiraling down a pit of despair and seemed steadfast at pulling Zelda down with him. If it wasn't for that bloody prophecy, she might have been able to get her joyful father back eventually, but not now.
The few individuals who knew the Princess personally were the most trustworthy. Her Royal Advisor, the Champions, and the lead group of lab technicians running the ancient restoration projects. Just to be on the safe side however, Zelda used Purah's red hair dye that turned her long golden hair a dark auburn. On nights that she'd sneak out of the castle, Zelda would temporarily dye her hair and pin all of it on the top of her head like a bun so no one could compare its impressive length to the rumored Princess's. The way she'd quickly style it in the candlelight would end up messy with strands of hair falling in her face, but if she could Zelda would slice it all off and be done with it—except it wasn't her choice to be made. Too sacred, the King would protest, like she was cherished as a porcelain Goddess and not as his own daughter.
"Call," the Hylian on Zelda's right said between puffs of her pipe. The brawny woman tossed four blue rupees onto the center pile then, with a flick of her tongue, maneuvered the pipe to the other side of her mouth.
This nameless woman wore a black eyepatch over one eye, covering a long jagged scar that started at the top of her brow and went all the way down to her jaw. Zelda didn't know the woman, had never seen her before that evening, and she was proving to be an excellent card player until the one-eyed woman made a grave error.
She was quick, but Zelda caught it.
Zelda had a knack for reading facial expressions—could read them easily no matter the face. It started when she was younger, when nurses and doctors had promised that her mother would be fine, along with the sibling Zelda was eager to meet. And after that, when her teachers and scholars had taught her that the Royal lineage was pure and sacred, and she had to find out the hard way that it was actually filled with lies and deception. And especially when her father would promise something from the bottom of his heart—to allow her to continue archery lessons or grant her access to the tech lab—only for it to be taken all away.
There's a glint in the eye whenever someone tells a lie and Zelda knew exactly how to find it. As soon as the blue rupees hit the colorful mound of money, the one-eyed woman made the mistake of glancing her way. That's when Zelda knew for certain she didn't even have two of a kind.
With a leisurely swipe of her thumb, Zelda fanned her cards out in front of her face to inspect the hand she was dealt, taking her time in placing her bet. Both of them; Daruk and the woman with the eye-patch shifted nervously in their seats, awaiting her decision, and it made Zelda feel powerful. She liked having this control—one of the very few places that she had any—and she relished in the sensation, basking in the way everyone in the tavern crowded around their table, eager to watch the mysterious mastermind challenge the famous Goron Champion.
There was a sway in her movements, like the teasing of a cat to a mouse, and Zelda dragged her gaze up to meet Daruk's. Prowling, she made her move.
"Raise," Zelda said, and tossed a single purple rupee onto the pile. Around them, the crowd hummed.
Surprisingly, Daruk was quite a good poker player. The Goron was the one out of the four Champions who almost never stopped smiling, never stopped flowering her with compliments although his words turned less floral and more prickly when Zelda's back was turned. He had told a few cautionary tales to their allies, had given some words of advice on how to handle her 'strong personality.' Daruk was sweet, just as kind and civil as the rest of the Champions, but Zelda knew he had spoken of her like she was someone to hold at an arm's length, to keep a watchful eye on. And tonight, Zelda was about to lay claim to those words.
It was Daruk's decision to either raise the bet or end the round to reveal the winner of the pot—and he decided on the latter. "I'm sorry Pri—ma'am, but I believe I've won this round," he boasted, and flipped his cards over on the table. They fanned out dramatically, revealing a four, a seven, an ace, and two jacks. Two of a kind.
With a tilt of her head, Zelda let out a long sigh, giving Daruk the satisfaction to believe he truly won—if only for a moment.
"Your hand is great," Zelda said, "but mine's better." She leaned back in her chair and flung her cards down just as dramatically.
There, fanned out merely inches from the pile of rupees, revealed a royal flush. With all the smugness in Hyrule, Zelda smiled and took a long guzzle from her Hateno honey mead, watching Daruk's jaw drop over the rim of her wooden mug. The Goron Champion huffed and crossed his arms over his buff chest, then rose from the table—clearly done gambling his small fortune away. If it was anyone else of that impressive stature, Zelda would've taken his demeanor as angry or threatening, but his smile couldn't be friendlier.
"I don't know how you do it," he whispered casually, then added even quieter, "Your Highness," then winked at her.
Due to the boisterous tavern applauding the card champion, no one around the table heard Daruk's comment besides Zelda. The woman with the eye patch was too busy slamming her cards on the table in frustration, mumbling to herself as she got up and sulked away. Zelda was left sitting alone, smiling victoriously, watching her defeated opponents trot the walk of shame and abandoning all their hopes of winning that colossal pile of rupees. To be fair, the winnings should have gone to the least fortunate, but that's not how card games work and besides—Zelda always gave everything away.
It wasn't like she needed the money. Being Hyrule's Princess and heir to the entire kingdom, Zelda never needed rupees or to trade for things she needed, but she did understand the concept of poverty. She knew that there were those in need of money more so than what was given to them or were fairly earned, and she couldn't bear to see starving mouths amongst the cobblestone streets of Castle Town or beggars on sidewalks hoping to be tossed a stale piece of bread to feed their families. War time was tough on the entire kingdom, but it was especially cruel to those who didn't deserve it. And if the King had shunned her from all other methods of contributing to the fight against the Calamity—except committing herself to prayer—Zelda would do anything in her power to find other routes of being—and feeling—useful.
Her chair screeched across the hardwood as Zelda pushed her chair back and rose from the table, but it was drowned out by the tavern springing to life with the announcement of a card winner. She raised her mug, held it high in the air, and shouted over the banter; "Next rounds on me!"
Everyone mirrored her enthusiasm; cheering and raising their own mugs in her victory—accidentally sloshing a mixture of different ales as it sprinkled down like a drizzle of rain above their heads.
The joyous faces surrounding her seemed to brighten the dimly lit room. There was a mix of those she recognized and those she didn't, but they all seemed genuine and care-free, unburdened by the looming prophecy that was slowly creeping over the realm of Hyrule. Tonight, in this dingy tavern, all worries were left at the rusty metal sign swinging over the front door.
» . «
There was a lull between the events of the tavern—a short intermission between the card games and the strip tease following and Zelda took this time to refill her empty mug. The card games were over and a new type of entertainment would soon follow and Zelda wanted to make sure she had a great seat in front of the tavern's stage. She collected her earnings, struggling to carry it all in her hands, and walked over to the tavern's bar. The sound of jewels clanked violently on the long, wooden counter and it startled the shoulders of the bar owner. They turned from the ale barrels stacked against the wall and gawked at her—hands flying to their hips and shaking their head, laughing at her struggle, unceremoniously.
The owner of The Twisted Cucco was a Hylian without a gender; displaying both masculine and feminine qualities combined. A bushy beard sprinkled along their jawline and they had the softest brown eyes Zelda had ever seen, contrasting to the strong build in their shoulders—almost as large as a Goron. They wore trousers that cut off at their ankles and a white low cut shirt that revealed the cleavage of their breasts and adorned earrings that dangled from their long, Hylian ears. Locking eyes with her, they let out a puff of breath in subtle agitation, but it was Zelda who spoke first.
"Can I get another Hateno honey mead, please?" Zelda asked, lifting her mug up with one finger, a suggestive smirk spreading across her lips.
Giving in to Zelda's charm, they sighed and smiled, making one lone dimple appear on the side of their tanned cheek and their earrings to jingle. They tilted their head at her as they spoke. "At this point, you're going to drink my tavern dry."
"Let's hope," Zelda snorted, and the tavern owner winked at her right before they snatched her mug and turned to the ale barrels behind them.
With elbows on the counter, Zelda took a long, satisfying breath and let her eyes wander around the room. There was a small circle of lab technicians laughing and joking in the burgundy booths on the far side of the wall. Robbie was among them, roaring in laughter at something one of them had said. He was already several pints into his drunken haze, ready to celebrate and drink the night away, because tonight everyone gathered for his engagement party. Here; at this shabby tavern with his soon-to-be wife about to strip her clothes off in front of the entire bar and Zelda wouldn't have missed it for anything.
The party wasn't massive. There weren't decorations covering the walls nor were there invitations sent out requesting everyone to dress in formal wear. It was quaint and word of mouth, to come leisurely and stay as long as one wants. Completely casual and common and normal. Everyone seemed happy in that clique; relieving the stress from another day's worth of tireless work—except for Impa.
Zelda's Royal Advisor was squished between Robbie and another lab technician in the middle of the booth, sitting with her arms crossed, boring her stare into the tavern's front door. Anxious and distraught, Impa was waiting for someone that she knew would never arrive.
Domero, the Court Poet, wouldn't step foot into an establishment this drab, but Impa kept her hopes up anyways. The man had high fashion and expensive taste and Zelda felt a tinge of pity for her friend's hopeless yearning. Impa was pining over a man that wasn't worth it—at least, not in Zelda's perspective. He had many great qualities; charming, pleasant to be around, he always smelled refreshingly clean and his talents ranged from a plethora of musical instruments to writing the most melodic lyrics to have graced the roaming hills of Hyrule, but Zelda considered him to be a bit melodramatic.
She wasn't proud of the history she shared with the Court Poet. When Zelda pursued him, she was in a dark place; frustrated with her new personal knight that wouldn't leave her side, upset with her father for taking everything away, and growing angry at her dormant sealing power—and Zelda had enough of it. She desired the dallying attention, longed for someone to treat her the way she wanted them to—the way she deserved to be treated—but Zelda quickly discovered that he didn't hold the key to solving all her problems.
Instead, he treated her like a trophy, like a tier to reach on his structure of courting ladies, and despite the endless amount of romantic sonnets he wrote for her, Zelda shoved him out of her bed chambers as quickly as she pulled him in.
"Here you are, Champion," a condescending voice rang behind her. Zelda turned and smiled at the tavern owner offering up her refilled mug, golden liquid frothing at the rim. "I take it this is my tip?" They gestured to the large pile of rupees by her elbow.
Pocketing a third of the rupees, Zelda pushed the rest of it across the counter. "As always. I take it you paid off the mongers and fixed the leaky roof?"
"As always," they mirrored, meeting Zelda's sly mannerisms and slid her rupees underneath the counter. They beamed at her and said with a large grin; "Much obliged."
Zelda chuckled and grabbed her drink. "Don't mention it." Turning from the bar, she paused and looked over her shoulder at them. "Oh, and that also covers a round of free drinks for everyone."
Without looking at them, Zelda knew the tavern owner was groaning.
As she found a seat amongst the empty bistro tables stationed in front of the small stage, other revelers started to do the same. Cherry's show was starting soon and everyone wanted a closer look. Glancing over her shoulder, Zelda watched the lab technicians begin to abandon their snug booth in the corner—though Impa got up and went the opposite direction, towards the tavern's door and not even noticing Zelda in her haste. The rest of them made their way towards the stage and it wasn't long until Robbie found the Princess front and center.
"Hey, it's you!"
Several onlookers turned their heads to stare at Zelda, but it wasn't a big enough commotion to grasp their attention for very long. At least Robbie wasn't drunk enough to blow her cover completely.
With a chuckle in her throat, Zelda rose from the table and hugged him dearly. He smelled like hard liquor and mechanical oil and she found herself taking a deep inhale of him—savoring the nostalgic memories filling her mind with images of the Royal Ancient Lab. That scent always reminded her of him; his messy desk at the lab, the way he always tried to cheer her up with a silly song whenever she was feeling disheartened by an unsuccessful experiment or an idea that didn't conjure any traction. He was a good friend, and she was happy to share this night with him, even if he wouldn't remember most of it in the morning.
"Yes, it's me," Zelda smiled and pulled away from his rather touchy hug. His hands slid from the lowest part of her back and his beady goggles beamed at her.
"I'm so glad you cou-could sneak from the castle and—and make it," he hiccuped. "I invited everybody I know."
"I can see that," she chuckled, glancing around the tavern to make sure no one was listening to the ramblings of a drunken man.
"And you look great with red hair. Y'know, I've got a thing for redheads."
She quirked an eyebrow at him. "Do you, really?"
"Quite right," he took a swig of his liquor. "And blondes. And brunettes. Pretty much everything."
Scoffing, Zelda rolled her eyes; "I thought so—but hey, listen," she began, trying to change the subject and keeping her voice low. "I've been collecting data during my trips to the Beasts and I believe I've made some interesting progress with our theory that may—"
"I can't hear you, what?!" Robbie shouted louder than necessary, drawing out the word and gaining back the attention of a few tavern dwellers peering over their shoulders at them. Due to his goggles he had a sharp eye, but his hearing was… less than stellar.
Zelda had just opened her mouth to repeat what she said when a flutey voice interrupted, and asked; "Is this man bothering you?"
Up walked the cutest face Zelda had ever laid eyes on. Cherry was her namesake; heart-shaped and sweet, curvy and bold and lusciously tart. She was shorter than Zelda, voluptuous, and the only person to ever beat Zelda at her own clever wit. The two women greeted one another with a tight hug as Zelda shared her congratulations.
"I apologize that I won't be able to make it to your handfasting," Zelda said as they drew away from one another. In a week, Robbie and Cherry were meant to be wed, tying the knot in Robbie's hometown, Kakariko—the same day Zelda was meant to head to Mount Lanayru.
"It'll be a small ceremony anyways and besides… duty calls," Cherry simply quipped with a wink and a shrug—the straps of her ruffled fuschia dress dangling provocatively over her shoulders. "You'll be staying for the show tonight though, right?" Her gaze fell to the empty table behind Zelda with her lone mug on it, then back to her.
She smiled warmly. "Already found my seat."
Cherry had just enough time to smile back before she was distracted by Robbie's drunken laugh. Draping an arm over the shoulders of his fiancé, Robbie pointed at himself and asked; "How does it feel to be engaged to this tall glass of water?"
A wicked grin grew along Cherry's lips as she patted his face with an abrasive smack of her palm, demeanor candied and tangy.
"You're good enough to drink, my love." Her voice was low, sultry—purring in Robbie's ear and Zelda watched a drunken buffoon melt into the arms of his lover.
Robbie had met Cherry here, at this very same tavern on a night quite like this one. Zelda wasn't there to witness this love at first sight, but she has heard the story many times over. Cherry, the provocative dancer, was the reason this tavern had a stage, even if it was only a few inches off the hardwood. But her persistence to make a name for herself rapidly became a popular hot spot for any, and all, lurking eyes.
She put her talents to good use when she struck a deal with the tavern owner, offering up her expertise in exchange for both of them to earn more money. Seeing a profit in Cherry's bosom, the owner of the Twisted Cucco schemingly agreed. When gossip reached the lab technicians about a tavern advertising a dancer who stripped all her clothes off, Robbie was the first through the door. With his goggles glimmering in the front row, Cherry stepped on stage and he took one look at her and she took one look at him and they both knew they were made for each other.
Robbie was still ogling at his fiancé when Cherry turned her attention back to Zelda, then sighed. "I should probably make him drink some water. It'll help with his hangover."
Zelda tapped at her temple with a finger, remembering that helpful tip in case she ever needed to take care of a drunken mess in her future.
"Noted," she said, smiling.
With the show about to start, Cherry led Robbie off to a seat at the end of the crowd so she could easily keep an eye on him, then went to the counter to grab a glass of water.
With an elated smile on her face, Zelda sat back down in her seat and waited for the show to start. Around her, she saw many faces; those she recognized and those she didn't, ones who kept her imperial secret and those who simply knew her as the nameless card champion, but there was one face—one that Zelda knew so well she could draw it in her sleep—that she couldn't find amongst the swaying shadows of the shifty tavern.
Maybe it was for the best that Link wasn't here.
They had gotten over the rockiest part of their relationship—were closer than they've ever been. They've traveled to all the Beasts and he saved her from a Yiga attack, they disregarded the King's orders by continuing Zelda's archery lessons when they were alone and he taught her sign language whenever they had downtime on their travels. He was opening up to her and she to him, and Zelda wasn't sure if she should feel excited about it or apprehensive. She enjoyed it when it was just the two of them, but the feelings that stirred inside her when he was close enough to count the freckles on his nose, the desire to lean in, take him as she pleases, was almost unbearable.
But despite how close they've gotten, Zelda could tell there was something Link was still keeping from her, and she couldn't figure out what it was. He was a stone wall, completely barricaded from revealing any emotions, but she could see it in his eyes, the way he stared at her. A secret on his tongue that refused to be said.
Soon the tavern became enchanted with new light, dimming along the walls and redirecting the focal point of the room to the low stage. The rowdy customers eager to watch the performance resorted to the sounds of hushed whispers, and the show began.
Magically, the whole tavern was draped in darkness and a bright spotlight illuminated the small platform. Slow, sensual music rang out from somewhere that Zelda couldn't locate, and Cherry sashayed her curvy hips up the steps, her nose and mouth hidden by a fan that she held in her manicured hand. She wore a tight leather corset over that signature red dress, ruffled and lacy and it hung dangerously high on her legs as it trailed down to the floor behind her, exposing the black tights and garters strapped around her thighs. The corset she wore exaggerated her hour-glass figure into something most men dream about when they're alone. Her heels clicked as she made her way to the center of the stage, teasing the audience with the batting of her lashes and grace of her body, and with the reveal of that gorgeous smile, she hinged at the hips and shimmied her breasts at everyone.
Like many things in Hyrule, Cherry came with a mystery. She never shared her background, never told anyone where she came from or who her parents were, but Zelda had her suspicions. There was a compendium Zelda had been working on since she could write. It wasn't bound into a hardcover but scattered across her study in the form of smeared ink on parchment, relaying information on weapons and monsters and minerals, but she was especially interested in the species and races of Hyrule.
She had committed thousands of tireless hours researching Hylians and Zoras, Gorons and Gerudos, where they all came from and what made them different—she even had a theory that the peaceful races today had evolved from others, but she didn't have enough evidence to prove it. She had come across legends of ancient tribes, researched all the history she could find, and dove into encyclopedias, but there was one that was always fascinating, always surrounded by a mist of familiarity and enchantment. The fairies.
Existing on their own, closer to nature than civilization, the fairies were usually discussed like they were some sort of mythical creature. Known for being eccentric and charming, excellent healers and flirtatious teasers and as Cherry turned her back to the audience and her soft pink hair twirled by the motion, Zelda could've sworn time slowed and the whole stage sparkled.
It was easy to lose track of time during Cherry's dances, vision narrowing to the only light in the room, eyes following the trails that her hands made roaming all over her body. Mesmerizing and captivating, like a siren's call to a sailor and everyone was in awe—including Zelda—
—but then there was a wiff of something other than alcohol and Cherry's candied perfume. A forest scent of summer grass and Zelda's eyes snapped from Cherry's spell of maraschino haze and fell to the empty seat at her bistro table that wasn't empty anymore.
Link was leaning back in his chair like he'd already been there a while. His gaze rested on Zelda and not the provocative dancer taking her clothes off in front of them. Dressed in casual clothing, he wore a simple white button-up shirt with his typical tan trousers and riding boots, hair pulled back with that blue tie and his earrings gleamed in the soft light. He looked like a regular commoner and a striking prince all at the same time.
Zelda took a glance around the tavern, making sure all eyes were still stuck on Cherry and not the famous Chosen Hero seated lazily at her side. She leaned across the table and whispered. "What are you doing here?"
Mirroring her movements, his eyes scanned the room, then leaned over the table slowly and signed. I was invited.
By whom? She signed back—choosing not to have this conversation with words during a performance.
The same person that invited you, Link signed, then jabbed his thumb over his shoulder towards the end of the tables where Robbie was sitting, staring at the stage with his mouth opened. The technician's gaze was stuck on his stripping fiancé as his head swayed—just like all the alcohol in his system.
Robbie truly wanted to like Link—he told her so. Robbie was always civil to him when he was around, always trying to find a joke that would make the Champion crack, but had so far been unsuccessful. He had a tough time trusting anybody that wouldn't smile, wouldn't let loose in the presence of comfortable company, but Robbie was an optimist. He'd get him to smile eventually.
Face impassive, Link added; He promised there'd be strip pong.
Leaning back in her chair again, Zelda sighed quietly. She should have known Link would be here even if he wasn't invited, that she'd never truly be alone as long as he was under-oath to protect her. There was a part of her that hated it; despised the idea that she needed protecting, but there was a smaller part—one that was growing in volume and value every day she spent with him. She was beginning to like that he was always there.
A round of applause erupted around them and the sound of it startled her. She glanced up to see that Cherry was already stripped to her final pieces of clothing; dressed in only the lingerie that she wore underneath her fuschia dress. Black and lacy and powerful, with garters strapped to her underwear and a thin brassier so revealing, it left nothing to the imagination. She'll have to ask Cherry's designer to make another set like that in Zelda's size—it wouldn't be the first time she made a request like that.
Cherry bowed to the audience, graceful hands at her sides with her waxed legs bending in a curtsey, and Zelda and Link clapped along with everyone else to remain inconspicuous to their neighboring tables. When the volume yielded, Link spoke.
"I'm off duty tonight," he said casually, pulling Zelda's attention back to him again. Their eyes met and he added, "From guarding the Princess."
There was a tone he used at the end that she didn't particularly find amusing. She didn't like it when anyone spoke to her that way and she wasn't about to give Link a free pass just because he was speaking so openly.
"And what would you typically be guarding her from?" She asked condescendingly, cocking her head to the side in mock curiosity.
But he didn't miss a beat. "From getting into trouble."
She scoffed and looked down into her mug, attempting to hide the warmth she felt creeping up her face. Zelda took a long, leisurely sip of her mead, taking her time to think of a response to that, but Cherry chose the moment to acknowledge the crowd; shouting her thanks as rupees were tossed around her feet and a stumbling Robbie tripped up the stage and draped an arm over the shoulders of his lover. She was the perfect height for him to do that.
All eyes were drawn to the couple dowsed in spotlight; a short woman barring her nipples to the entire tavern, and the three clasps of Robbie's low-cut robe were unbuttoned, revealing his bare chest as well. They were raunchy and provocative, the most risqué, attractive couple to have graced the streets of Castle Town, and Robbie took the hushing of the tavern crowd as an opportunity to gush about his partner.
The speech he made was ungodly dreadful. Slurred, incoherent ramblings of a man so smitten, even the bar flies in the back of the room could see the humidity caught in Robbie's goggles. He talked about love, the importance of finding someone special, and it would've been sentimental if it weren't for the long tangent he made about a good set of tits. Hand gestures included.
The audience groaned and chuckled restlessly as Robbie and Cherry looked at one another and Zelda's heart swelled in size. Seeing her friends so happy, so in love, Zelda didn't want to be anywhere else in Hyrule besides here, in that moment, sharing a table with—
She glanced over her shoulder and was graced with the softest look Link had ever given her. His blue eyes shimmered, quivering as they stared back unblinking, and the corners of his lips curved into a smile that Zelda hasn't seen in years. Boyish and honest, his face held a tenderness, an expression that would've been so easy to read for someone whose known love before—but for Zelda, all it did was confuse her.
With a blink, it was gone. A quiet clear of his throat had Link's smile dropping and his emotionless facade returned. She turned away, suddenly shy, and feeling strangely disappointed for some reason.
Slowly, the crowd started trickling in numbers as the happily engaged couple ended their improvised speeches, and the tavern owner announced a final call for closing time. Not wanting to stay out too late, Zelda rose from the table and a hefty sigh escaped her lips. She really didn't want this night to end, to sneak back into her Royal chambers and return to being the Princess of a kingdom that was so dependent on her success, it pointed out every flaw and failure she ever had. The burdening walls were beginning to encroach upon her again with the tavern's final call, and Zelda found herself looking around the oblivious crowd, trying to absorb every detail as if it'd be the last time she'd see a scene like this again.
With the crowd depleting, Link felt more comfortable talking amongst them. When her eyes fell on him, he nodded sternly. "Come on, Princess. Let's get you home."
"—Princess?" A low, thick commoner accent boomed over the bar, interrupting their private moment. "That ain't no Princess."
Eyes wide, Zelda stood frozen at the bistro table, staring back at the rapidly quieting tavern. Her heart fluttered in her chest. She wasn't ready to have her identity revealed, to confess to all those standing there that they were in the presence of Royalty, that the card-winning mastermind was actually someone that needed to be bowed to or shown respect, and she needed to think of something quick because the noise of the lively tavern had hushed to the volume of a vast holy chapel.
"He's my fiancé," Zelda said quickly. "We're uh—engaged. He... calls me that. It's a little pet name." Her words rose at the end like it was a question, and she looked at him for reassurance, hoping he'd go along with it.
They shared a tense stare before Link let out a small sigh, then closed the distance between them and wrapped an arm around her waist. He looked at the small huddle of strangers, then nodded.
"Give us a kiss then!" The owner yelled from the back, overhearing their conversation and it made all the others still lingering in the tavern hum in agreement. Suddenly, like a booming crescendo, everyone in the room started chanting kiss! kiss! kiss! over and over again and Zelda and Link were left with their eyes locked on each other—a silent stand-off on who will break first.
Zelda was the one that did. "Make it look convincing."
"That shouldn't be a problem," he said, and started leaning in.
They had kissed before. Once. Years ago, when Zelda had just started to sneak out of her chambers at night and the war had begun. When monsters started to attack the capital in larger masses than before and the hospital ward was becoming over-crowded with wounded soldiers, both old and young. When they kissed in secret back then, there had been a confidence to it that she'd never forget; a clumsy eagerness to know what her lips felt like—but not this time.
Link kissed her mindfully, annoyingly gentle. It was feather-light and barely pressing into her, but it lingered like he didn't want to stop having his upper lip between her own, wasn't ready to quit trailing his hand up her spine, wasn't committed to stop pretending yet—and neither was she. Something sparked in her; a feeling that was oddly familiar—as if she'd been staring at it straight in the face, but had been ignoring it completely. It wasn't a flutter of butterflies in her stomach or a swell of her heart, but a bolt of electricity shooting up her body with the sudden urge to pin him down and kiss him senseless until he was throbbing and mewling and branded by her lips from the skin of his neck to the apex of his thighs.
The sound of a rowdy cheer pulled their lips apart and Zelda opened her eyes to watch Link do the same. He was slow in his movements, reluctant. Another blink and his expression was gone again, changed to the serious manner he always conveyed when other's eyes were on them.
"I—I'll escort you to your chambers, Princess." His breath was barely louder than a whisper, softly quivering.
And she replied in much the same way. "I'd like that."
On their way out, Link held her hand to pretend they were still lovers, to convince the lingering loiters that probably didn't need anymore convincing—when a flash of red caught Zelda's eye. As she turned, she saw Purah, shocked eyes and jaw agape, sitting on the lap of her Gerudo lover. She wave to her anxiously, but she didn't have time to explain the scene and quite frankly, she didn't want to.
» . «
Kissed by the light of the moon, Zelda gazed up in fascination at the majestic turrets of the castle. They were always so illuminating at night, always so unearthly and surreal. Jutting high above Central Hyrule, they captured a significance, demanding energy and power like an ancient Guardian beam.
At this hour, the cobblestone streets of Castle Town were vacant, desolate besides the occasional stumbling drunk or homeless trying to find a comfortable place to sleep for the night. Zelda gave her rupees to any beggars they passed, knowing it would never be enough, but willing to try anyways.
"So," Link began casually, one of the very rare moments he let his guard down—when they were alone completely. "Do you often sneak out of the castle at night, Princess?"
She sighed and sent him a sideways glance, the sound of their footsteps echoing in the silent street. They turned down a rather shady alley, sneaking behind the brick buildings to where bakeries and trade shops deposited their rubbish in the evenings. It wasn't a pleasant path, but it was the stealthiest. For years, Zelda had devised multiple pathways to sneak in and out of the castle without drawing attention from the night guards, and she wondered, briefly, if Link had done the same.
"Not recently," Zelda said, gaze set on the street they were walking down. "I haven't had much time to myself lately."
Link hummed in agreement, nodding his head as he walked beside her, formalities gone between them since they were alone. "It's true, the Princess has been spending a lot of her time with the Hero. Rumor has it, they were seen at the training grounds practicing archery together."
Zelda's eyes narrowed, unamused by his mockery. "Are you just about through speaking to me like I'm not the Princess?"
The air between them grew thick with unease, and she felt Link stiffen. The two of them have gotten close—closer than she'd ever been with anyone else—but she had her mood swings, her sensitive topics that triggered her. Most of the time she could handle a silly comment like that when they were out in the wilds of Hyrule, traveling alone together, but not in this environment—with the looming turrets of Hyrule castle making her feel so small.
He bowed his head in humility. "My apologies, Your Highness." Link never called her that unless he felt like he truly made a mistake in front of her.
"It's fine, I..." but she trailed off, deciding not to explain herself. Needing a moment to calm her rising emotions, Zelda looked the other way. She felt bad for snapping at him, but Zelda was having a difficult time accepting her identity, as well as accepting his own. Link wasn't always the Hero, and she didn't like hearing him be addressed that way.
It wasn't long before they snuck into the castle grounds and crept through a courtyard of flowering roses—the crimson colors muted and dulled by the illuminating darkness—and the two of them stayed silent, lost in their own thoughts for a moment. They walked around the bend, and the tower to her study came into view.
Link's voice cut through the midnight air again, but it was softer now. Discreet. "I… like your hair that way, Princess."
Surprised by his impromptu compliment, she turned to look at him again, green eyes scanning over his features for any signs of sarcasm, and finding none.
"Really?" She asked, voice higher than usual and she swallowed, trying to collect herself again. "I know my father would have my head on a spike if he found out I dyed it at all." Her hands flew to her hair sheepishly and started combing through the loose strands. "Is—is it the color that you like?"
"No," Link shook his head. "I like it short like that. It looks good on you."
She didn't know how to respond. Typically, Link didn't comment on her features, never shared his opinions about the outfits she wore or how she presented herself, but she knew from their shared past that he was attracted to her. Regardless, his comment made her cheeks warm and she was thankful that Link couldn't see her face very well in the moonlight.
Through her bashfulness, Zelda mumbled out a thank you as they approached the base of her study tower. The wooden door was bathed in lamp light from the metal lantern dangling above the archway and they had to be careful no guards stationed on the high balconies could spot them. They idled in the darkness until any noticeable guards had turned away, then slipped behind the door and bolted it shut behind them.
They were halfway up the stone staircase when Zelda picked up her pace, suddenly remembering the brief conversation she had with Robbie.
"Link," she whispered, "I've been working on a hypothesis for the past few days. I wanted to share it with Robbie tonight, except he was... indisposed. Perhaps, I could share my notes with you, instead?"
"Of course, Princess." Though she couldn't see him, Zelda knew by the tone in his voice that he was smiling. He liked it when she shared information with him—even if it went over his head sometimes.
"Good," she smiled as she walked. "My notes are on the Sheikah slate, I'll show you when we get to my chambers."
Link wasn't a stranger to Zelda's study, nor to her bedroom. They'd spent countless hours leaning over her balcony, staring at the lab technicians running tests in the courtyard, had guarded her while she tinkered away at her desk or been tailored for dresses that she'd never get to wear. He was her silent shadow, positioned to be guarding her so much so that his own bedroom chambers were just down the hall. At first, she loathed that idea, but now it was a comfort knowing he wasn't far away.
Their heels clicked on the white stone as they descended down the grand spiral staircase to her bedroom. Zelda kept the Sheikah slate hidden behind a loose brick in the wall at the windows and she took the time to remove it carefully. She didn't want anyone to take it from her; rogue Yiga members, thieves in the night, even her own father. She kept it in the safest place she could find.
Guiding Link over to the candlelight still flickering above her desk, Zelda raised the Sheikah slate up for both of them to see.
"Look here," Zelda began and Link stepped close behind her—his chest brushing against her shoulder as he listened intently. "As we've visited each Divine Beast, I've been compiling a thorough collection of notes, and I think I have enough information to express a hypothesis.
"You see," Zelda continued, leaning over her desk and pulling out a map of Hyrule, papers fluttering with the clutter. "All of the Beasts were discovered within their respected corners of Hyrule; Vah Naboris in Gerudo Desert, Medoh close to Rito Village, Rudania within Death Mountain, and Ruta in the Domain." She pointed to each location on the map as she spoke. "Each ancient Champion had derived from the same regions as the Beasts that they piloted. As we know, they act as a supreme weapon, but I believe they also serve as trials to prove that the next Champions are worthy.
"This slate was found within Vah Naboris when we first discovered it," Zelda explained, gesturing to the device in her hands, then grabbed a crinkled piece of parchment from her desk that showed her own indecipherable scribbles. A list with their names on it. "Now, the ancient prophecy mentions that in order to take down Calamity Ganon, there needs to be four Champions, the Hero, and the Princess. If the Champions had their own trials, why exclude the Hero and the Princess?
Their eyes met and she knew Link was trying to follow. "Princess, are you saying—"
"Yes," She cut him off. "I believe, somewhere in Hyrule, you have trials you have to partake in, and perhaps my own as well. Maybe whatever awaits me will help unlock my sealing power and—and whatever awaits you, you will have your own Divine Beast to pilot."
"But I have the Master Sword, Princess," Link objected gently. "That's what I'm supposed to wield when we fight the Calamity. Not a Beast."
"Of course," she tsked her tongue, impertinence in her tone, "but what trials have you gone through to prove yourself? Or do you honestly think it was your destiny to be chosen?"
There was a pause between them—eyes challenging the other with how the rest of this conversation was going to go. She wasn't going to back down though. She knew somehow that something was missing. That they hadn't completed everything that needed to be done in order to defeat the monstrosity encroaching, rather quickly, upon Hyrule.
It was Link that broke first, with a soft sigh. He looked down at the slate and nodded for her to continue.
"That being said, the next question that resides is where —where are they?"
"Something tells me, Princess, that you already know."
"Not for certain," she said, too distracted to realize he may have been flirting with her. "At first, I thought the shrines held the entrance to my own trials, that's why I was in Tabantha alone, at the Tena Ko'sah Shrine. It didn't prove any significant results—as you witnessed, firsthand. Perhaps the next time we come across a shrine in our travels, you could test my hypothesis by trying to open it yourself."
"Me?"
"Yes, you." Their eyes met briefly, and she saw a rare expression flash across his features. Shy.
Turning back to the map on the desk, Zelda smiled softly and pointed, attempting to return the focus back on her meticulous work. "By process of elimination, our trials could be hidden somewhere in Akkala or Faron, possibly Necluda, but I believe they could be located even closer. Maybe right under our noses."
She slid her finger down the page and tapped it when it reached the Great Plateau. "Wouldn't this be the perfect place to bury an ancient Divine Beast?" She asked. "A region that is, quite literally, lifted off the ground?
"And here," Zelda's hand slid back up the map to the castle. "This is the focal point of all of Hyrule. Something must be buried beneath this castle. Some Sheikah technology or ancient energy—maybe even the Calamity itself. It all has to be connected somehow, though I'm still in the process of deciphering these intangible proceedings."
Her voice settled in the cool air of her bedroom chambers and Zelda wasn't sure if Link was still listening or not. She turned her head to sneak a glance and he was there—nose merely inches from her own, a smile on his lips that she didn't get to see very often. Bright and warm and reaching his eyes and Zelda couldn't help but smile back at him in much the same way.
"You are truly admirable, Princess," he said.
Not knowing what to say, she swallowed instead. Maybe it was the alcohol trying to creep back into her head or maybe it was the adoring tone in Link's voice that made her unable to conjure any words. Her own voice sounded so feeble when she finally responded.
"Thank you," was all she could say.
The blue glow of the screen had them resting their stare on the Sheikah slate, and Zelda's thoughts returned to her. She was getting somewhere with her research—she could feel it, it wasn't all for nothing—and she was satisfied with the reaction she had gotten out of Link. Hard work deserves good praise.
Minutes passed in comfortable silence, before Link shifted in his stance and her ears twitched at the sound. "Shall I bid you goodnight, Princess?"
She was still slightly distracted, her mind reeling with solutions unrelated to the question he just asked her. "Yes, of course."
"Goodnight," he said.
"Goodnight," she replied, not looking up from the Sheikah slate—but then an instinct washed over her. An instinct as simple as falling water, as heat to embers, as a kiss goodnight to a lover.
And that same instinct washed over Link as well.
She turned her head and their lips met again; a kiss sweet and soft and undeniably domestic. Lingering for a moment too long, lasting for a breath too deep, they both pulled away slowly with shared shock in their eyes and a twitch to their lips, unsure exactly where that feeling came from, or why they felt the need to give in to it.
Maybe it was because they had just pretended to be lovers, had fooled an entire tavern of hopeless romantics that they were engaged—and it was believable—and maybe, buried somewhere deep down, they wanted to believe it, too.
Link blinked and she saw it—his walls beginning to crumble. Zelda has learned to recognize a rare crack in his visage, one that draped over his features whenever he was conflicted, unsure of what to do next. It was hesitation and collapsing restraint, parts of his personality clashing against his barricades—the real Link barred underneath and trying to escape and in this moment, the emotionless soldier had eased away and a tenderness took place. His gaze trailed longingly down to her lips and those long lashes fluttered slightly. Hoping. Waiting. Yearning.
They were frozen, standing there in the darkest hours of twilight with lips merely inches apart—wanting and wishing for their lives to be different and maybe just for tonight, they could be.
A muffled thud broke the silence when the Sheikah slate dropped from Zelda's hands, clattering on the desk, but it was drowned out by hands grabbing for fabric, mouths parting in a kiss. Eager lips met in the moonlight, ardent and forceful—with Zelda pressing her upper lip between his and applying the softest suction, tugging at his bottom lip, and making him sigh.
Link's hands had flown to her waist like he'd been resisting the urge to touch her there all night, and her own hands found their way into his hair quickly, immediately, finally exploring what it felt like to comb her fingers through it, to have those shaggy blonde strands tangled around her knuckles as she gripped him, experimentally.
A low noise reverberated in the back of Link's throat and Zelda swallowed down the sound. He was touching her so modestly, clutching onto a conservative way of venery, but his restraint was dwindling. Stable hands still stationed on her waist gripped her hard while her own hands slid from his hair and smoothed along the fabric of his white shirt. She was hungry for anything he was willing to give; devouring every uncontrollable noise that left his lips, ravenous for a reaction.
Tongues met and a rhythm began; bodies moving in motion like the candle flames flickering along the walls and Zelda started pressing on his chest, coaxing him to move backwards—to the bed—and he complied. Boots dragged along the red rugs on the floor, clumsily and inelegant, and they were kicked off in a hurry moments before Link's calves hit the bed frame, and he pulled her down with him.
Palms spread wide on his chest, Zelda hovered above him as they shared a sudden look of surprise, reality sinking in between them. Their eyes were scanning over the other's features—minds dizzy, breaths shaky, and they waited. Stuck in a silence that seemed to last for ages, wondering if this was a wise choice to continue.
It wasn't, but she did it anyways.
She wanted to make him moan, wanted to know what it sounded like, wanted to have him sprawled out on her bedsheets and throbbing, make him feel something.
Her lips fell to his, kissing fiercely, inhales sharp and hands wandering. He pulled her to him, fingers trailing up her spine like a bolt of lightning, and it ignited a fire in her core. She was going to enjoy this, enjoy watching him unravel at the seams and come undone beneath her.
Slithering down his body leisurely, Zelda took her time, cupped his cheek in her hand as he sighed against her lips, breaking their kiss for a breathless heartbeat. Lower and lower, she kissed along his jaw and trailed down the meridian of his neck, feeling him shiver beneath her touch. Then Zelda's lips met fabric and her fingers started capering down the buttons of his shirt, undoing them one by one as she lavished kiss after kiss, behind them.
And with every kiss she gave, Link's movements grew greedy. Back arching up to meet her lips, fingers tousling in her hair, and Zelda's mouth found the rigid plain of his belly and she dragged her tongue across it—left and right, up and down, marking him with kisses, branding him with love-bites. Green eyes flickered up his body to witness his head turning to the side, nose brushing against the blankets, with eyes closed and a sated smile so prominent on his lips that proved he was enjoying this as much as she was.
Wanting to take this slowly, as if coaxing a timid animal, Zelda shifted off the bed and knelt between his spread legs. She began unclasping his belt cautiously, becoming heavily distracted by her own determination, but that was when he stopped her. Zelda glanced up his chest to see his head had lifted off the bed and was watching her. Bright blue eyes were turned deep sapphire, cheeks flushed and lips parted, trembling with words trying to be spoken.
"We really shouldn't do this," he said. Though as firm as his words were, his body betrayed him.
Zelda's eyes fell back down his body and came level with the view before her. The outline of his erection was long and hard and obvious, draped along the top of his hip bone, and the sight of it made her mouth water. She wanted to feel the weight of him on her tongue, and she couldn't resist brushing her fingers across his length to touch him. She looked back at his eyes to find them closing, squeezing shut by the sensation she caused him. His sturdy walls were crumbling and it fascinated her—to watch him fall while she caught him, to trust her the way she so desperately wanted to trust him.
Her hand slid lower, down his shaft and between his legs, and she rolled him in her palm over the fabric of his trousers. A low whine was pulled from his chest and he opened his eyes to meet hers.
"You're right—" she said, lips hovering above his groin. She kissed him through the fabric gently—teasingly—and glanced back up at him. "We really shouldn't do this. So, do you want me to stop?"
Fire burned behind those eyes when he answered. "Don't stop." He grabbed himself and it startled her. It was vulgar, rapacious, with Zelda's hand trapped between his erection and his palm, and he pressed her harder against him. He sucked in an inhale. "Don't you dare stop."
Time started rushing forward—urgent, vigorous—with a mess of clumsy hands desperately pulling at Link's waistband to try and free him from his trousers. In haste, Zelda yanked them down his ankles and discarded them completely, but as soon as she was able to take in the sight of her knight, she faltered.
He was breathtaking.
With his shirt unbuttoned, baring his flat chest and naked from the waist down, Link was flushed and utterly gorgeous. Clean scars scraped along his toned legs, abdomen chiseled, and the thickness of his erection made her heart flutter. There was a small bead of wetness leaking from the tip and Zelda had to swallow down the whimper rising in her throat. Neither of them had any idea about the effect he had on her—until just now.
The clearing of his throat startled her, not realizing she'd been staring for so long. Her eyes snapped back to his, and he asked shyly. "Can I undress you?"
"No," she shook her head. Her eyes were already glazed over with one thing on her mind. Tentatively, her fingers trailed up his inner thighs, feeling the coarse hair on his legs brush beneath her fingertips, until her hands reached for his cock and she curled a loose fist around him. "I'd like to—Is it alright if I—?"
She didn't wait for an answer. Link had opened himself up so easily, allowing her to kiss him, touch him, undress him as she pleases. There was confidence coursing through his veins like the courage that fueled him, and he wasn't scared about surrendering his body to her so unequivocally.
Her thumb brushed over a sensitive bundle of nerves and she heard him take a shaky inhale. He was so soft—velvet soft—and Zelda leaned down, opened her mouth, and laid him on the flat of her tongue. Link twitched against her, feeling her wet warmth slowly encasing around him as her lips met his shaft and she took him, fully.
There was a gasp that filled the stagnant air, but Zelda barely heard it. The taste of him had her groaning low in her throat and she moved him around in her mouth experimentally—tongue dipping into his slit just slightly, teeth grazing along his head so lightly, then she took him as deep as she could go. She paused there, feeling him pulsate in the back of her mouth before she pulled him out with a pop of her lips that had her stoic knight panting.
It was hot, thrilling, so tantalizingly unbearable as Zelda imagined what it would feel like to have him inside her, encased between her walls as their bodies moved together. Just the thought of it had Zelda slipping her free hand beneath her own trousers and underwear, feeling empty and neglected as she catered to him with her tongue, and she dipped a finger inside herself—surprised by how wet she was already. Then she dragged her fingers over her clit, and started circling.
She could've guessed a hundred different ways how Link presented himself in bed, but being loud wasn't one of them. He was keening, hips bucking into her mouth and groaning, telling her how much he liked it when she sucked at him, when she pulled him out her mouth and smacked him a couple times on her tongue.
She took her time with him, lavished his head and licked down his shaft, sucked at his balls while her hand pumped him steadily, and she watched him. Eyes bright with fascination, she saw his hands fisting the bed sheets, the rise and fall of his chest trembling by her choices, saw the flat of his jaw as his head flew back on the mattress and indecent words left his lips.
Zelda knew she was good at this; was detailed with her tongue and meticulous with her fingers, focusing attention on her lover's body—and Link was no exception. Beneath hooded eyes, she witnessed him unravel, moaning when she sucked him, biting his lower lip just to keep from getting louder. Link had always concealed his emotions easily, but now Zelda was at his barricades, knocking all his principals down.
Smooth and graceful, Zelda lost herself to her own rhythm and the digits spiraling between her legs were consistent, steady—circling over her clit and building a taut coil in her body, picking up pace when her movements grew faster with Link, and it startled her when he hissed through his teeth, sucking in a sharp inhale and she glanced up at his face again.
He was close and so was she, could feel the tension building at the base of her spine, ready to break and shatter and watching him didn't help slow the escalation—only hastened it. Mewls and whimpers tumbled from his tongue as she moaned around him, letting him feel the vibration, and with Zelda's head bobbing, tongue swirling, mouth rubbing over swollen veins, Link choked out a warning.
"Zelda—Zelda—oh fuck, Zel—"
His erection throbbed in her mouth and he came, hips surging upwards as warm liquid pooled on her tongue and she held steadfast, keeping control and guiding him through it, watching as her hero came undone completely—even when she came herself. The shortened version of her name, that one final moan in Link's throat, had Zelda's coil snapping and her vision filled with stars.
With an urgent swallow, she gasped—riding out her orgasm, fingers moving to her body's rhythm as lingering rivulets fell from Link's tip and onto her hand and a tinge of shame started to replace the ecstasy. She had come so easily just by watching him, didn't last as long as she normally did when she had a lover in her bed—and Link didn't even do anything. Never touched her or pulled her hair, kissed her possessively the way she wanted him to. It was just him and his uncontrollable sounds and his naked body sprawled out on her bedsheets and Zelda had a feeling niggling deep in her core that told her the physical cravings were only just the beginning.
Breaths stabilizing and coming down from their high, his head rose from the red duvet cover. Link's hair was messy and disheveled, face dazed and confused and he asked; "Did you just—"
"Yes," she breathed, slightly astonished herself.
He lifted onto his elbows and stared at her, trying to read her. "Do you want me to go?" He eventually asked, as if he was a midnight caller she had beckoned to her chambers and were to be dismissed as soon as she was done with him.
She was shaking her head before she could even realize it. "No," she answered honestly. "Stay with me."
He sat up on the bed and slowly cupped her cheek in his hand. His eyes had returned to their regular shade—no longer darkened and filled with desire—but his movements were still adoring.
"Of course, Princess."
Softly, he kissed her on the cheek and they untangled from one another. As Zelda got ready for bed, Link undressed completely and crawled beneath her bedsheets, then watched her silently. She paraded around her room, stripping from her common clothes and slipping into her prettiest chemise, pulled the pins from her red hair and let it drape around her waist like a curtain—keeping him entertained by her alluring antics and enjoying his eyes on her.
It wasn't like she never had someone in her bed at this hour—though she had never requested them to stay before. There wasn't a long list of lovers, but as Zelda pulled the covers over and slipped into the bed beside him, she decided that she liked seeing him this way. Content. Cozy. Happy.
Curling into her regular position, Zelda snuggled her nose on the satin pillow and laid on her side as Link sat motionless up in bed, gaze set on the far wall, and mulling something over in his mind. She stared at him curiously, eyes at the top of her vision, and was tempted to ask what he was thinking about, until he spoke.
"Is this…" He paused and scratched his temple, then looked down at her. "Is it supposed to feel this way?" He asked shyly.
Truthfully, Zelda didn't understand what he meant. Never knew what it felt like to be comfortable with someone in that way before, how right it's supposed to feel. She didn't grasp the gravity of his question—and couldn't have given him an answer—until they shared a bed together once more, in their quaint little home in Hateno, a century after he had asked her.
One Hundred Years Later
Present Day
"You're staring again."
"Sorry," Zelda says quickly and pulls her gaze away from the volcano.
Her traveling companion merely chuckles—that soft husky laugh she's grown used to over the past week—and the sound of it carries through the cool, midnight breeze.
The stars twinkle above them and the fire crackles between them as Zelda returns her focus to the scene in front of her; journal open and resting on her thighs whilst Kass lounges across the firepit from her, sorting through his music sheets. He looks up to her briefly—long lashes blink slow, heavy-lidded and gentle, the hazel eyes of a traveling bard with a distant lover of his own.
He takes a long inhale, his broad chest expanding like the instrument he plays, and sighs. "I catch myself doing the exact same thing," he blinks again and looks beyond her shoulder, at the vertical village lit by candlelight, stationed between the rocky mountain pass.
"How long have you been gone?" Zelda asks.
"Amali would give you a simple answer," his head tilts to the side, affection blatant in his eyes when he quotes her. "Too long."
They share a sympathetic smile, but it falls away, and they're left with reality creeping back into their cliffside camp.
It's the fifth night without him. Without Link. Five nights lying awake, staring towards the east with worry shrouding her dreams instead of her regular occurring nightmares. What if he's fallen into a pool of lava or was crushed in a rockslide? Even with Mipha's gift of healing, would he be able to recover from something like that? How long will she have to wait for him this time?
"I hope he's okay," Zelda says softly, gaze fallen to the volcano once again, and winces from the pain in her jaw.
Compassion fills Kass's sigh, and he reaches for the bottle of green pain reliever again. "You mustn't agitate it."
"I'm fine." She wasn't.
Her own journey hasn't been easy. Due to trailing an extra horse without a rider—Ritos don't have the anatomical structure to ride horses very well—Zelda and Kass could only travel as fast as a slow trot, which meant stopping to fight any monsters close enough to spot them on the trail. Thankfully, Zelda is fierce and talented, strategic in battle and impressive with a bow and she took down every Guardian stalker they came across with a single ancient arrow. However, arrows don't do nearly as much damage against a stone talus. Especially when one springs from the ground, unexpectedly.
She only had the weapons on her back to fight it. No Sheikah bombs or stasis rune, no sledgehammers or boomerangs. All she had were her talents, her agility, and lots of bomb arrows. The battle was long and tireless—making sure Kass and the horses were out of its range—and by the time the stone talus dissipated, Zelda had numerous bruises all over her body and a long, nasty wound that ran from the top of her cheek and down to her jaw.
Gently, she brushes her fingertips over the gash on her face. The wound is too deep for her medicine to heal it completely. It'll be a scar and a distant memory soon enough.
What would her father think of her now? Would he be proud she's kept the Hero alive for this long, or would she be disdained, dishonored, the last king of Hyrule ashamed at the person his daughter's become—with her milky skin shades darker by the sun, Goddess-gifted hair cut short by a skinning knife, and scars painted across her body, fighting recklessly like a brawny soldier.
"I once won a card game against a woman with a scar like this," Zelda says absentmindedly, eyes hooded and lost in her thoughts so garbled and spread thin across the expanse of time. Over the low flames, Zelda meets his eyes again and he studies her face intensely, reading more than just the words she spoke.
"Was he there with you?" Kass asks, head nudging towards the volcano behind him.
It takes her a moment to reply, then chooses to answer honestly. She looks down at her lap and smiles, reminiscing. "Yes, I think he was somewhere in the crowd then, but he doesn't remember that."
There was a short pause, filled with crackles from the fire.
"You know," Kass's voice chimes through the wind. "I've always believed that soulmates aren't found, they're made."
Looking back up at him, Zelda raises an eyebrow, intrigued by such a statement. "How so?"
"Well," He begins, eyes flickering behind her again. "Two souls will get a chance to meet and they have this…" He pauses, choosing the right words carefully. "This unwavering connection. One that can withstand a hundred hardships, no matter the distance… or time." He adds vaguely as his eyes fall on her again. She can feel the heat of the fire burning on her cheeks with Kass's gaze so suspiciously calm.
Smiling softly, he looks down at the accordion in his lap, lashes fanned out against colorfully feathered cheeks. "But in the aftermath, when all is said and done, there lies a foundation. One that has been created—unknowingly—from their hardships. And that is what makes a soulmate. Not destiny. Not fate. Not Hylia or the Sacred Three." Lashes twitch when Kass looks at her again, then adds; "it's simpler than that."
Effortless words carry immense weight as they sink down in Zelda's core, blossoming into a smile on her face. She understands the simplicity and after processing his beliefs, she finds that she agrees with him.
"I take it you're not a religious man, then?" Zelda asks.
Shrugging lightly, Kass shakes his head and adds jokingly; "Nor am I a man."
Soft chuckles fill the cold Tabantha air as they settle into their places by the fire. Kass continues his meticulous work of sorting his music sheets as Zelda settles more comfortably against the rock behind her, then glances down at her first journal entry.
It feels wrong to lie to him every day. For him to not call me by my real name and to not acknowledge me the way I once was, but like the seasons, we change and adapt and it suddenly doesn't feel so wrong anymore. Whereas once I felt like an imposter in my own skin, it's now just another day as Azella. I've grown used to a new normal, and so has he.
Yet, there is a part of me still lingering that wants to tell him everything. To confess what I've been keeping from him, but then the other half, this new half, hopes he will never find out the truth and I can't comprehend which side has my heart and which one is right. I hope they're the same.
Taking a deep inhale, Zelda tries to blink away the memory. They were in Akkala when she wrote this, the night they visited the Spring of Power and Link had remembered what she used to sound like. Now she has a surefire way of talking; less proper, more capable—not as angry and childish as she once believed herself to be and Zelda thinks that even when the Calamity is over—when they appease the Beasts and they storm the castle walls—she can't really see her old self returning. Not even if he recognizes her.
The sound of Kass clearing his throat makes Zelda tear her attention from the journal. "You should rest, my friend. Our journey isn't quite over yet."
She smiles back at him and nods, then closes her journal.
"No," she says. "I suppose it isn't."